


Little Evil

by NBWerewolfLover



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Laura Hale, Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe, Amorality, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, BAMF Stiles, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Canon-Typical Violence, College Student Stiles Stilinski, First Kiss, First Time, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Laura Hale Lives, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Post Hale Fire, Slow Burn, Smut, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-09-20 08:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17019402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NBWerewolfLover/pseuds/NBWerewolfLover
Summary: Stiles has a new neighbour.  A dangerous one, and he is delighted.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Stiles is bobbing his head up and down to the rhythm of the music blasting through his headphones, knees jumping up and down, left hand tapping, right hand scrolling down yet another Wikipedia page, this one about the life cycle of cat lice.  Don't ask. He’s on one of his research binges. It started with his curiosity about how gummy candy is made. He does know what day it is or how long he's been sitting here staring at the screen, but judging by his blurry eyes, numb tailbone, aching back and the mountain of dirty cups and empty wrappers...it’s been a while.

 

Anyway, just as he goes to click on another link, a jingle like a little bell, soft as a whisper, rings in the cortex of his brain.  Current of electricity tingleling down his spine. He plucks the headphones of off his ears, listening. Something or someone just brushed up against his wards.  Something or someone supernatural, hence the spine zap. Not someone with malicious intent towards him though. If it where the little bell in his head would have been more like a tornado siren.

 

Stiles waits a minute, expecting a knock on his door.  A visitor maybe, but not likely, and he hasn't ordered anything lately.  Not even his dad has his address, or his current real one that is. The Pack doesn't know either nor care, never even asked, not even Scott.  No one has ever bothered to come and visit, not once since he has move here to attend Berkeley University. That was two years ago. He finished High School at only seventeen and got early acceptance into Berkeley for his major in criminal physiology, which he is almost finished with, just taking a few last classes on line.  Scott and the rest of the pack chose to stay local, well except Lydia who’s attending MIT. So it's not like he expects to see them everyday or even once a month, but he can't help feeling bitter about the fact that no one is interests in how he is doing. The few times he has spoken to Scott or the others on the phone they only talked about themselves and usually cut the conversation short, like they couldn't wait to get rid of him.  They have never initiated contact, he calls them not the other way around.

 

The moment he finally admitted to himself that he is being pushed to the fringes of the Pack is when to went back home to Beacon Hills for Christmas that first year, just to find out the Pack is celebrating Christmas together and he wasn't invited.  To top it all of, when Liam tried to awkwardly apologise later (the only one that did) he stated he thought that Stiles was invited and just didn't want to come because he didn't want to come to the monthly pack meetings or get-togethers either. Meetings or get-togethers he didn't know about in the first place!

 

Stiles has done so much for Scott.  To him he wasn't just his best friend but his brother.  When Scott got bitten by a rogue Alpha when they where sixteen, Stiles is the one that helped him figure out what he was and how to control himself and not go on a murderous rampage or get exposed to crazy hunters.  Saved him from said crazy hunters, when he got reckless and was discovered. Helped him find an anchor which ironically turned out to be his girlfriend Allison, who's family consists off crazy hunters. 

 

Since it turned out that Scott is a True Alpha and now has a whole Pack, and doesn't need Stiles, the useless human, anymore he has started acting like the fact that Stiles isn’t a werewolf or any other supernatural creature makes him inferior.   _ Inferior to Scott, to the Pack. _ Constantly being left out or told to stay because he is ‘only human’.  Never mind that Stiles isn't just human. He is a Spark. Unlike Druids and Witches his magic isn't confined to spells and potions.  Stiles’ magic is only confined by the boundaries of his imagination. That makes him incredibly powerful and but also incredibly dangerous if you mess with him and the people he cares about, that he sees as his.  

 

As self-centered as Scott is these days, Stiles isn't sure Scott even knows what Stiles is.  In his mind Stiles is probably still his spazzy best friend that happens to be able the draw a circle of mountain ash and nothing more.

 

While Scott may not appreciate him or his magic, Stiles has built up quite a reputation in the supernatural community.  He goes by the name Red Fox. He acts as a magical consultant for other packs or supernatural creatures that needs his services.  In exchange for a generous fee of cause. 

 

That is how he can afford a luxury penthouse apartment in one of Berkeley most expensive apartment buildings.  The top floor is split into two apartments of which Stiles owns one. None of which the Pack or his dad has a clue about.  His dad would probably have a heart attack if he saw where he lives. He’s still under the impression that Stiles still lives in the dorms on campus.  He hasn't lied to his dad about it...okay maybe a lie of omission. He doesn't want his dad to worry and...he isn't so sure that his dad would approve of his occupation.  You see Stiles is also known,  _ feared, _ in the circles he runs in for his ruthlessness and liberal moral view on life.  He isn't above killing if that is what's called for.

 

So there are only two apartments on this floor, and the one next to his has been empty since he moved in a couple of months ago.  So the supernatural being that grazed his wards should have no business being up here.

 

Stiles closes his eyes and extends his senses.  Sending his magic rolling out to cover the entire building with the intent to determine the exact location of the supernatural and also check for other possible threats in the immediate surroundings.

 

Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up in surprise.  ‘Oh!’

 

It seems he has a new neighbour.  Either that or the guy is an idiot and broke into an empty apartment.  It’s definitely a male with a exceptionally dominant aura, with denerous helpings of anger, aggression, passion and...sadness, desolation and grief and…

 

‘Oh! Oh.’ A sprinkling of madness.

 

A small pleased smile makes its way on Stiles’ face.  What can he say, dangerous men intrigue him.

 

‘Oh great!’ he all but yells sarcastically, thumping his head on his desk.  ‘My new intriguing neighbour is a freaken werewolf!’ 


	2. Chapter 2

Peter's usual flinty cerulean eyes flash an even brighter preternatural blue, face scrunched up in a thunderous scowl, gums and fingers itching to erupt in fangs and claws, as he glares at the blue piece of trash masquerading as a vehicle.

 

Said blue disaster's presence wouldn't normally warrant such a extreme reaction in a rational human being...or in the old Peter.  The Peter who's personality, sense of self...who's very soul was still intact, yet to be burned...scorched by prejudice, hatred, violence...and ultimately by betrayal.  Betrayed not only by the enemy but by his own flesh and blood.

 

No, this new Peter runs on instinct alone, his wolf pacing, lurking, prowling just under the surface.  Baying for blood and revenge.

 

Barely a month ago Peter woke up alone in a sterile, grey hospital room with only one thought in his feral mind…to kill.  To paint Beacon Hills red with the blood of the Argents and every last person that had anything to do with the dessimation of his Pack.

 

Six years.  Six years he laid in that bed, in a coma.  Every excruciating second reliving the night Kate Argent trapped his family... _ his Pack _ in their home and set them alight.  Every millisecond reliving his fear, panic and the feeling of utter helplessness as he watched them burn,  _ heard then scream, _ unable to break through the mountain ash barrier surrounding the house, but throwing himself futilely against the barrier,  _ into the flames _ over and over again none the less.  Reliving being burned alive, his skin and flesh melting down to the bone, over and over again.  Trapped in his own body, healing abilities arrested, a result of the trauma caused not only by the physical burn wounds but also by the broken Pack bonds and worst of all the abandonment by his only remaining Pack member and his supposedly new Alpha.

 

So, no, Peter isn't exactly in a reasonable state of mind standing next to the blue monstrosity taking up the parking space next his designated spot.  The two penthouse apartments each have two spots assigned to them. Peter for the life of him can't comprehend what the blue train wreck, he thinks it's a mid 1980’s Jeep, is doing in a parking space designated to a penthouse apartment, situated in one of Berkeley's most expensive apartment buildings.  Parked next to his own sleek black, Audi Spider!

 

A visitor maybe? Probably,  _ hopefully, _ he decides.   _ Better be. _

 

With one last snarl directed at the blue heap on wheels, he makes his way to the elevator.  He didn't bring anything with him, only the car, a bag of clothes (all designer, thank you very much, he's near feral and homicidal, not blind) and and a few thousand Dollars in cash and bearer bonds.  Shopping can wait for later, what he needs now...what his wolf desperately needs now is to be safely barricaded in his own den. To feel safe, for the first time in years. 

 

Peter bought the apartment when he attended Berkeley, first for his Bachelor's and later his Master's in English and Art History.  His sister, and  _ Alpha, _ wasn't happy at all, calling him a snob and others less flattering names for not wanting to stay in the dorms or even a small apartment closer to the campus.  There was nothing she could do through other than bitch and moan.

 

When Peter turned eighteen he got access to the money he inherited from his parents as well as his trust fund.  As there lies the rub, Peter always though, Talia inherited the Alpha spark and she always knew she would, always knew she was  _ special  _ (insert eye roll).  Imagine her shock when Peter inherited half of their parents estate.  Peter the  _ Left-Hand.  _

 

The Left-Hand.  Enforcer. Necessary evil.  Vital to the functioning and survival of a Pack.  Ignored, mistrusted, feared and abhorred by all  _ decent  _ pack members.

 

*****

 

It happened a month before his tenth birthday.  

 

Peter’s parents were hosting one of the yearly Pack get-together's.  He was drifting from room to room, dodging that felt like hundreds of grown ups to him, but were probably no more than fifty squeezed into the Pack house.  There were some members, distant relatives and pack adjacents, in attendance that Peter has never met before, having traveled from across Europe. Oh, Peter wasn't the only kid at the party, all the other kids were outside playing or just hanging around in the shade of the trees, but Peter never hung out with the other kids, always hanging around the grownups, listening, thirsty for information, even then.  

 

He was making his way thru the living room, heading for the kitchen, hoping to catch Talia and her new boyfriend, who their parents loath, in a compromising position, when a hand clamped around his wrist.  He instinctively ripped his arm away, snarling. Whipping around, ready to attack, he came face to face with sharp blue eyes peering out of a ancient, tanned face. Peter remembers thinking, ‘Woah! She must be at least two hundred years old!’  He later found out she was in fact a great-great aunt or something or another on his mother's side, from Ireland. She was completely human but apparently had  _ the sight _ . 

 

She stared at him for what felt like forever, eyes assessing,  _ judging…  _

 

Pinning him down with a frosty glare she suddenly sat back, making him jump, and ominously whispered one word…one word that set the course for Peter's whole life…

 

_ Left-Hand _

 

A collective gasp crashed thru the house and Pack like an artic tidal wave.  And Peter's life was never the same again...never treated the same again...never looked at the same again.  Never touched fondly again…

 

_ No scenting for the monster  _

 

**_*_ **

 

The elevator ride was an exercise in control for man and wolf.  An exercise both failed miserably. The moment the doors closed, instead of feeling save, surrounded by four walls, they felt trapped.  Caged in…

 

Fortunately, it being close to midnight, no one got in the elevator with him.   

 

Peter's metaphorical and psychical hackles have risen by the time he passed the fifth floor.  By the time the elevator doors open at the top floor, he's almost completely Beta shifted, his lip and palms bleeding, pierced  by fang and claw.

 

Halfway to his apartment he lurches to a stop.  His wolf wich has been clawing at the barriers of  his mind, near feral, ever since he regained consciousness, unable to move,  _ to defend himself _ , stills in cautious anticipation.

 

_ A scent… _

 

Ozone...Cinnamon...Musk...Frankincense and Myrrh...and something reminiscent of long nights spent buried in ancient scripts.

 

Peter tilts his head back taking a deep breath, trying to get a better read on the delicious scent...but it's gone...only the ghost of it lingering.

 

Later, sitting in the only armchair in the otherwise practically empty apartment, staring into the black velvet night pouring through the windows, Peter would wonder what it was about that random waft of scent that could calm, if only for a brief moment, the raging beast,  _ the monster,  _ he has become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> xxx

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it. The title of this fic is based on a song I feel was written for Steter.  
> Little Evil by Arno Carstens
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=2z4UwiDmfgs
> 
> xxx


End file.
